


To Whom All Birds Are Dear

by Oshun



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:04:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oshun/pseuds/Oshun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I got distracted by myself and my obsessing over a picture and forgot the prompt that I was writing. tarion_anarore asked for "Hmm... The one with Fingon at the onset of the Dagor Bragollach." And instead she got Fingon and a bird!</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Whom All Birds Are Dear

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by this beautiful picture.  
> [Fingon](http://kimberly80.deviantart.com/art/Fingon-410232675) by ~[kimberly80](http://kimberly80.deviantart.com/) on [deviantART](http://www.deviantart.com)

 

“O King to whom all birds are dear, speed now this feathered shaft,  
and recall some pity for the Noldor in their need!”  
 _The Silmarillion_ , "Of the Return of the Noldor."

 

o0o0o0o

  
Findekáno closed his eyes and whispered to his bird, before un-hooding her and letting her fly. The conditions were less than perfect for her to show her speed and power in full flight. The clearing stretched for perhaps a quarter of a mile, side to side, between the mountains on one side and the forest and Pools of Ivrin on the other. Findekáno would have preferred near twice the space, but still had seen some great dives and chases that sunny afternoon.  
  
The Sindar were giving a better showing than the Nandor had. However, Findekáno still thought he stood an excellent chance of winning the contest. The cacophony of drums and music in the distance and the onlookers with their ceaseless conversations and occasional muffled laughter, created a less than ideal environment for concentration. Nonetheless, he had confidence in the strength and intelligence of his falcon and his own method of training her.  
  
Irissë approached him, smirking. “Good look for you, Finno,” she teased, laughing at him. “Very, ah . . . how can I describe it? Very savage.” He had allowed his Nandorin acquaintances to paint blue streaks across his cheekbones and forehead. Out of habit, he strained to hear--over Irissë’s annoying chatter--his falcon’s bells tinkle as she climbed and circled.  
  
“I thought so,” he drawled. “Maitimo liked it.” He refused to allow her to distract him. “Yes!” he yelled, triumphant. “Did you see that.”  
  
“What’s she got? Looks like baby bunny.” Irissë curled her nose in mock revulsion. Nobody who had spent as much time as she had with Tyelkormo and Huan could react with any authentic shock or disgust at the sight of a hunter’s kill.  
  
“It does look small. But she’ll be scored not on the size of the prey, but her form and speed.” The bird did not falter but returned straight as an arrow to her master and dropped the rabbit at Findekáno‘s feet. He had her bloody treat ready for her.  
  
“Good girl. My beautiful baby,” he cooed, truly delighted. He dipped into the leather bag at his wrist to fish out an extra piece of fresh meat for her, vowing to give her a share of the rabbit later as well.


End file.
